


One of a million lights

by Shittyfanfictionahoy



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: A what if drabble, Did I do the angst right?, MC death scenario, Oneshot, Other, dies of old age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shittyfanfictionahoy/pseuds/Shittyfanfictionahoy
Summary: The human that had bought such light, such joy to a broken family, their human, had died. Quietly, in the night, without any pomp or fanfare. Not deserving of you at all.------A short oneshot about how the bros would react when you die.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	One of a million lights

**Author's Note:**

> Hehe, have this angst. I've been seeing a lot of "what if MC died in the future" angst, and I decided to have a crack at it. This...kinda sucks. Way too many adjectives, pretty sure my characterization is off, and WAY too long. But I wanna hear what you think!
> 
> This is my first time writing a one-shot, so please go easy on me. ;-; Please give me some kudos and comments, they give me serotonin- you don't need to tho. Apologies if this is too short, I crossposted this off of Twitter where I originally wrote it.

Watching a peaceful death of a human being reminds us of a falling star; one of a million lights in a vast sky that flares up for a brief moment only to disappear into the endless night forever. - Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

\-------

It was summer. The sun shone down on the graveyard, flowers in bloom. Birds twittered and flapped, either unaware or uncaring of the somber festivities happening right below them. 7 demons brothers huddled around a grave, as if protecting it from the harshness of the world around it. A demon prince stands off to the side, unusually quiet. His butler speaks to a white haired sorcerer, clad in black, their faces solemn. Surprisingly, two angels are not present to this affair. Chances are, they are up in the Celestial Realm, or Heaven, as the humans called it, preparing for your arrival. They would be clad in white, standing quietly in one of the palaces many Great Halls, waiting for you to pop into existence. Waiting, for you to form, glowing in heavenly light and exuberance, a golden smile on your lips.

The two had promised the others that they'd organize weekly trips down to the Devildom once you turned into an angel. A way to soften the sting of your death. It still hurt. It stung, like that of a rubber band being flicked against an open wound. How could it not?

The human that had bought such light, such joy to a broken family, their human, had died. Quietly, in the night, without any pomp or fanfare. Not deserving of you at all.

You know the saying, "They can smell your fear?" This was true of demons- except now, all they smelled was the over-powering, pungent, salty scent of grief. It was a bit like the ocean, Beel thought. He remembered teaching you to surf, all those years ago, when you'd merely been an exchange student. He would never forget the happy look on your face, as you stood atop the board, wind blowing through your hair, riding a wave. He looked down at the cheeseburger that he'd been holding onto, for dear life. It was decimated, cheese dripping down his fist. For the first time in a long, long time, Beel realized something: he was no longer hungry.

Belphegor stands, staring at everything yet nothing at the same time. He is alert, for once in his dreary existence. His pillow is nowhere to be found. You had died, once more, but not from his own doing. He clenches his fist, and purses his lips. How cruel was it, he thought, for the universe to allow him another chance at friendship with humans, to reunite him with a fragment of his long dead sister, to feel and love and laugh again- only for said human to die. How cruel and unfeeling. Yet this time, he feels no hate at the world, only acceptance.

Acceptance. How strange.

Leviathan, for once, is not glued to his phone. He has eyes only for your grave. His fingers tap, tap, tap away at the headstone, as if it was a game controller- the same kind of controller he'd given you, as a present once. He'd presented it to you during one of your game nights. You'd been complaining about how your controller lagged, and he'd purchased it off of Akuzon. Top model, amazing quality. It had lasted you many a game night. You'd dubbed it "Levi 2.0, my most reliable friend!" You saw him as more than a yucky otaku, given him confidence to chase after his interests, to rant about them passionately. For that, he would forever be grateful, to his best friend.

Satan stands there, for once not feeling anger. Strange, he thinks, as he sits in the soft grass, inspecting the dew drops. For most of his life, the only thing he'd been able to feel had been heated, fiery anger, spreading inside him. Even when most of him had been overflowing with love towards you, there'd been kernels of anger, waiting to explode-

He'd expected himself to go on a rampage, now that you were gone. He remembered Lucifer, in a flurry of panic, casting spells on his room, so he couldn't get out once they'd realized you'd passed. And why wouldn't he- once, you'd been abducted, and the whole Devildom nearly burned down. They weren't willing to risk the world ending. Yet strangely, during the one time where it would've been understandable to fly off the handle into a world ending rage he could not. The only things he could currently feel, not unlike Belphie, was gratitude at the how you'd shown him it was ok to be angry sometimes, at how he was more than just the personification of Lucifer's wrath. At how he was perfection made out of a discarded imperfection. 

Asmodeous sits next to his brother, lying on his back for once uncaring about how he looked. His eyes are baggy, his skin is ashen, and his hair is askew. If, a few years ago, he looked upon himself like this, he'd scream in horror. Yet he...didn't care. For the longest time, Asmo had thought his worth had been tied to his beauty. As the Avatar of Lust, he knew only of the excitement of desire, the wants of sexualities. Romance, for all he chased it, eluded him- people would only admire him, would only pine after him because of what he could give, of the sexual pleasure he could imbue. And, for the longest time, he'd been fine with that. What could he do to change his lot in life? When he was around you, he tried even harder to be the prettiest, the most stunning of the brothers. Moisturizers, hair care products, lip balms- all were required, to keep you around. Of course, until that night you'd barged into his room when he looked positively disgraceful. He'd stood, stock still, fear pumping through him. Would you abandon him, once you realized his imperfections? 

You didn't. You instead showed him that, he was loveable, no matter if he looked ashen and half dead in the mornings, or glowed like a jewel in a club. You'd always love him, no matter how he looked.

Mammon, the second eldest, Avatar of Greed, the scumbag-your protector. Grief and guilt flow through him like a river, a never ending flow of pain. Crows squawk around him, their black feathers raining down upon him. He catches the eye of one- a white feathered one. It swoops, around and around them. He remembers once, on the rare occasion he'd convinced you to skip with him, a crow similar to that one had been circling around you two. It had landed on your shoulder, and cawed, loudly. You'd jokingly named it after him, Mammon. "O-Of course ya'd wanna name it after me, the Great Mammon!" He'd proclaimed, in typical Mammon fashion, puffing out his chest. He pretended not to be flattered (which had failed miserably).

It had been strange, to have someone look at him, willingly befriend him, and not only acknowledge his bad traits. The only reason, he figured, people hung around him was the fact that he was the life of a party. He was constantly ridiculed, for his behavior, for so many things out of his control, and he'd accepted it. it was his place in the family, he'd reasoned. If he didn't accept the negative comments directed at him, if he didn't act like their punching bag, war would strike up amongst them. It was only natural that he'd take the abuse lying down. But then you, a mere human, had decided to stand up for him. You kept the brothers in line, when their cruel words became too much for them to handle. The protected had become the protector, and you'd instantly captured his heart.

You'd been living gold, more precious than anything he'd ever had, and oh, how wonderful you'd been. You'd brought love and joy, to old hearts that had not felt that in years. You'd forever be living gold, more precious than his beloved Goldie, to him.

Lucifer stares at your headstone, at your name. His mind couldn't make the connection, for some reason. just yesterday, you'd been full of life and joy. And now, your eyes were devoid of life, with no breath left in your lungs. It was funny, really, as he looked around at his brothers. He'd spent years barely holding onto the messy, broken shards of a family, long since damned to Hell. But you, in your human glory, had picked up each piece, one by one, and lovingly reattached it, glued each fragment together. 

He feels misty tears collect in his eyes, and his shoulders shake silently as the tears cascade down. How ironic. He'd let down his pride to go to you, talk about his grievances and lay his feelings bare. And here he was, doing this again. Suddenly, he feels two pairs of arms encircle him. He looks down, and there they are- Beel, and Mammon, hugging him, their body shaking with sobs. Slowly, one by one, each of the brothers flock to them, joining in the hug, as if a gate had been open. 

They would be forever grateful for the gifts you'd given them. Forever, and ever, until the end of time.


End file.
